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"Well," said Mr. Perkins, "I am glad I am not a slaveholder, for one reason; I am sure I should never get to heaven. I should be knocking brains out from morning till night, that is if there are brains under all that mass of wool. Why, they are so slow, and inactive—I should be stumbling over them all the time; though from the specimens I have seen in your house, sir, I should say they made most agreeable servants."

"My servants are very faithful," said Mr. Weston, "they have had great pains taken with them. I rarely have any complaints from the overseer."

"Your overseers,—that is the worst feature in slavery," said Mr. Perkins.

"Why, sir," said Mr. Chapman, ready for another argument, "you have your superintendents at the North—and they can knock their people down whenever they see fit."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Perkins. "I had forgotten that."

"Stay a little while with us," said Mr. Chapman, as Mr. Weston rose to lead the way to the drawing-room. "You will not find us so bad as you think. We may roast a negro now and then, when we have a barbecue, but that will be our way of showing you hospitality. You must remember we are only 'poor heathenish Southerners' according to the best received opinions of some who live with you in New England."

"Alice," said Mrs. Weston, at a late hour in the evening, when the last of the guests were taking their departure, "Walter would like to see you in the library; but, my love, I wish you would spare yourself and him the useless pain of parting."

"I must see him, dear mother, do not refuse me; it is for the last time—pray, let me go."

"If you choose," and Alice glided away as her mother was interrupted by the leave-taking of some of their